Snub
by The Ticker
Summary: Francis attempts to use the D-Day commemoration events to repair his relationship with Alfred. Oneshot


Francis bit down hard on his lower lip as he watched the television.

Special Relationship.

America and England had a Special Relationship.

He got up, tossing the remote at the screen and stormed across his sitting room. He balled his fists and made pounding motions at the air, making his face very ugly as he watched clips of Alfred's boss speaking. This was not acceptable. _He_ had been the one who saved the day when Alfred was over throwing Arthur! _Alfred_ had been the one that came to his rescue when Ludwig had him in a strangle hold.

And now America and _England _had a Special Relationship?! Where did that leave him? Clearly, after all these years, Arthur was trying to win Alfred's favor back. Trying to suck up to him with all this Special Relationship business. And Alfred was buying it!

He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the television as the report switched to one about wine. He sunk into the arm chair and seethed, thinking of how he was going to bring Alfred to his senses and remind him of _their_ special relationship.

---

"What the bloody hell is this?"

Francis looked up from his rose garden and smiled all together too pleasantly at Arthur as the Englishman stormed over to him, waving a small, cream colored piece of paper.

"What is what _ma petite_?"

"Your D-Day commemoration events!" Arthur said.

"_Oui_? What about them?" he asked, getting to his feet and taking one of the roses he had cut, holding it near his face for effect.

"You did not invite the Queen," Arthur growled, crumpling the piece of paper in his hand.

"But I invited that wonderful Prime Minister of yours, _non_?" Francis asked.

This only seemed to aggravate the Englishman more, "Only after he _asked!_" he yelled.

Francis sighed, picking up his basket of cut roses which were to be used as decorations that evening, "I do not see Mathieu coming over here and complaining that he did not get an invitation. Perhaps you are just taking this too personally?" "Mathew never complains about anything! I don't think he physically _can!_" Francis gave another, more dramatic, sigh and walked over to Arthur. He put a hand on the other man's shoulder and could practically feel him bristle under his grip, "I think you should go home and have a nice cup of tea," he said, leading him gently towards the gate, "And perhaps we can talk about this on Monday, _oui_?" "Oh yes, Monday, of course, when the whole affair is already _over and done with_!" Francis nodded sympathetically and shut the gate in Arthur's face, "Yes, we will see you Monday then. _Au revoir _Arthur!" he said and turned on his heel, feeling all around good about himself.

---

"Ah, Alfred!"

Francis walked ahead of Mr. Sarkozy, opening his arms to the young man who was getting off the plane. He greeted Alfred with a hug that was returned in a very stiff, very formal manner. When he pulled away he saw that Alfred looked politely uncomfortable.

"It's nice to see you again, Francis," Alfred said, dusting off the arms of his jacket in a way that reminded Francis just a little too much of Arthur.

Francis grinned nervously at Alfred and looked over his shoulder to where their bosses were greeting each other with a stiff formality. He looked back at Alfred, who was looking around the runway with a tightlipped frown.

"Francis, where are the others? Matt and Arthur and the rest?" he asked, looking at his host.

Francis took a deep breath. He hadn't counted on Alfred noticing the lack of other guests. Really, could you blame him? Alfred _never_ noticed that sort of thing. Not if you made the American's entrance sufficiently grand. Oh and he had made it grand. They were on a private runway, with red, white, and blue balloons enough to fill_ le Louvre_ and flags draped from every possible location (and some locations that had before been perceived as quite impossible). A live band had played a newly composed rendition that combined their national anthems, and there were children with little flags strategically placed and instructed to cheer wildly. He had even greeted his American friend with a thumbs up as the plane landed on the runway! What else could the man _want_ in an entrance!

"Well, _mon ami_, ah I did not want to detract from the main event," Francis said, putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder and leading him towards the waiting limousine.

Alfred's eyebrow's knit together, "And what, exactly, is the main event?" he asked as they got into the limousine.

Francis grinned settling himself across from his friend, "To welcome you, of course!" he said.

Alfred did not look pleased.

Francis felt panic rising in the back of his throat. The children. They had been too much, hadn't they? He had debated about hiring the children; he hadn't wanted to overdo it. He had been afraid they would look too fake, and it turned out that they had. Hindsight was always a clearer set of lenses, he supposed. Now he had to salvage this, before something terrible happened.

"I want you to invite Arthur."

Something like that.

"W-what?" Francis sputtered.

"Invite Arthur, and his Queen. And Matt, and… Matt's boss. I don't know who Matt's boss is, but invite him."

"Why!" Francis cried, "What about our special relationship? I thought that this could be a reunion of the old times. You know, when we had revolutions and bashed at England over a good bottle of wine! When the Kennedy's came and you and I had a wonderful time over dinner!"

"Francis—"

"We've given Caen a new motto," Francis tried desperately.

"What?"

"Caen, it's a lovely little town near Omaha Beach. We've given it a new motto, just for you."

Alfred gave Francis a searching look and Francis pressed on.

"'Yes we Caen!'"

"What?"

"Like your boss says! Yes we can! Except now it is yes we Caen. It is clever, _non?_"

Francis found that he sounded far more frantic than he meant too, and he felt the grin on his face rapidly turning towards a despairing frown to match the look which Alfred wore. When the American said nothing Francis swallowed and sunk back into the upholstery. He looked out the window, at Alfred, and then out the window again.

"I was hoping you would join me for dinner at Jules Verne tonight?" he tried.

Alfred sighed and the limousine slowed down in front of the American embassy, "I'm busy," he said.

Francis stared after him as he got out, "Alfred—"

When Alfred turned back Francis felt a flicker of hope and sat up a little.

"It wasn't only me on those beaches, Francis," Alfred said, looking at the Frenchman from over the tops of his glasses. He then straitened and shut the door, following his boss and the first lady to the American embassy.

Francis watched him go and felt the crushing weight of defeat settle on his shoulders. He signaled the driver to take him home and pressed his lips together.

He wondered if sending out those invitations now would do any good.


End file.
